


Team Building

by Quasar



Category: Stargate: Atlantis
Genre: Episode: Hide and Seek, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-13
Updated: 2006-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 09:59:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasar/pseuds/Quasar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John starts putting together his gate team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Team Building

"Morning, Dr. Weir." Sheppard stepped into the room she had claimed as an office, overlooking the Stargate and off to the side of the bank of control consoles.

"Call me Elizabeth. It looks like we're going to be working pretty closely together."

"Sure." He smiled wryly as he sat across from her. "And you're welcome to call me John if you like, but experience suggests it's really just a good way to get four or five men to say 'what?' at the same time."

She chuckled. "Well, there's no one else by that name in the room just now, so I think we're safe. John."

"Listen, thanks for setting up that laptop for me. There's a lot of useful information on there."

"That laptop was intended for the use of Colonel Sumner. I just had to move a few personal files off of it."

Sheppard winced. "Right. Well. I've been brushing up on the SG mission reports, like you suggested. And I gotta say, if Pegasus is anything like the Milky Way, our exploration teams will need to be ready for a lot of trouble. In a lot of different shapes."

"There's an understatement." She blew out a breath. "When I first learned of the existence of the Stargate program, I stayed up two nights just reading the reports from SG1 alone."

"SG1. Yeah, I've been reading about them too." Sheppard leaned forward earnestly. "See, I'd like to structure our teams similar to the way the SGC did it -- obviously, they've got a formula for success going there. But we really don't have the manpower for a dozen gate teams. I'm thinking just three teams to start with, maybe build up to five or six later on, once we get our bearings around here."

"That makes sense. Initially we'll need to reserve some staff for exploring Atlantis itself, until we have a better working knowledge of the city and how the systems work."

"So you agree on three teams to begin with?"

"Yes, that sounds good. What about the composition of the teams?"

"We'll leave that up to the team leaders, although I might have some suggestions to make. You and I just need to agree on who the leaders will be. And on the composition of my team."

Elizabeth leaned back and quirked an eyebrow at him. "You say that as if you think I'm not likely to agree with you."

"Yeah, well, here's the thing." Sheppard rubbed a thumb across his eyebrow thoughtfully. "I think we need to have one team that handles the tough stuff -- first contact, any dangerous situations, recon on the Wraith, that sort of thing. The other teams can be used for less dangerous followup missions like ongoing negotiations or scientific studies, that sort of thing."

"You don't think we can field three teams capable of handling 'the tough stuff?'" She crossed her arms.

Sheppard shifted. "Look at the SGC reports, that's all I'm saying. The attrition rate on those offword teams is pretty alarming. We can't afford those kinds of losses."

"Every member of this expedition joined knowing that it would be dangerous --"

"But there's one team that didn't have losses," Sheppard pressed on. "One gate team with no fatalities in over seven years, hundreds of missions."

Elizabeth blinked as she got his drift. "No permanent fatalities, anyway."

"Yeah, and that was a shocker all by itself," Sheppard admitted, thinking of the absent-minded scientist he'd encountered in Antarctica.

"So you want an SG1 for Atlantis? You think you can duplicate that kind of serendipity?"

"Maybe not, but that's what we need to try for. I want our first team to have the best people on it. Not spread our top talent out on different teams."

"Go on," she said.

"So, for starters, I want Teyla on my team."

"The Athosian?"

"If she'll agree to it. She's smart, tough, and she knows this galaxy. She's effectively been a member of a gate team for years. It was her job to travel to other planets, make deals on behalf of her people, watch for threats, gather news about Wraith movements. She's the perfect native guide."

Elizabeth nodded slowly. "Sounds like she'd be ideal, if she agrees. And the others?"

"One of the Marines, and someone from the science division. I haven't completely decided yet, but I think I want Ford with me."

"Lieutenant Ford? The most senior commissioned officer left on the expedition, besides yourself?"

Sheppard looked away uncomfortably. Almost as much as Sumner's death, he regretted the loss of the Marine captain and lieutenant who had been beamed into the Wraith ship that was then shot down. He could have used such experienced people about now, even if they resented him for shooting their colonel. But there was no point in brooding over it, so he said only "Ford's a good man to have on your side in a bad situation."

"And you don't think he would be better off leading one of the other teams?"

"See, that's the thing. We need to have our best people on Team One."

"Major, if you're captured or killed, we'll need Lieutenant Ford here to take command of the military contingent."

Sheppard grimaced. "I'm not sure he's ready for command. Not like that."

"Don't you think you're putting all your eggs in one basket here?"

"That's what we need to do, don't you get it? Yes, it's kind of a gamble, but people aren't like dice or cards. If we get the right people together in one team, our chances of survival are better, not worse. Like SG1. There's a synergy, a -- a mojo, that you get when everything clicks. I've seen it before. It's almost like . . . like putting all your money on one horse really can make the horse run faster."

Elizabeth frowned and pursed her lips, but didn't say anything for a long minute. "All right, say I accept your argument about Ford. Who else do you want on your team? You said a scientist?"

Sheppard sat back with a sigh, even though he knew he hadn't really won her over yet. "I'm not sure. I don't really know the scientists very well, and I don't have personnel files for them like I do for the Marines."

"I can get you their files," Elizabeth said, reaching for her laptop.

"I was thinking maybe that English guy, Grodin -- he's pretty good with the Ancient tech around here. McKay's very sharp, too."

Her eyes widened. "Dr. McKay is the head of our science division!"

"Yeah, and I need the best if we're going to get that synergy I was talking about. I'm considering Beckett, too -- might be good to have someone else on the team with the Ancient gene."

"All the people you've named are absolutely vital to the success of this expedition. I'm not sure we can afford to risk them on dangerous exploration missions."

"They could be absolutely vital to the success of the missions, though. And those missions are vital to the expedition. We need food, allies, weapons, intel."

Elizabeth looked very unhappy. "Look, Major, I'm willing to trust your judgment about including Lieutenant Ford on your team. You say that having the best people at your back makes it more likely you'll all survive, fine. But with our top scientists, we're not just talking about a risk of losing them to death -- just having Dr. McKay or Dr. Grodin out of reach for a day or two poses a risk to all of us, if something goes wrong with the city's systems. I doubt Dr. Beckett or Dr. McKay would be eager to travel off-world, in any case."

"They can't be total wusses -- after all, they took a one-way trip to another galaxy," Sheppard grumbled.

"Major --"

"All right, I get your point. Like I said, I don't know the science people that well. I'll read their files and see if there's anyone else who would fit the bill. But it has to be someone really, really good. You probably won't be happy no matter who I choose, but I'm telling you, what's best for the team is best for Atlantis. Look how many times Carter or Jackson saved SG1, and SG1 saved Earth!"

She sighed and shook her head. "We can discuss this again after you've reviewed the files. For now, let's move on. Who do you want leading the other teams?"

"I want to get a better look at everyone in action before deciding. But right now, I'm thinking Sergeant Bates and Sergeant Stackhouse. They're both solid and experienced."

"I'm assigning Sergeant Bates to head security here in Atlantis."

Sheppard frowned for a moment at having a civilian deploy soldiers who were ostensibly under his command. But Weir was, after all, the head of the expedition. He nodded slowly. "That's a good choice. We can make sure the offworld trips don't take him away from the city too much -- his will be a followup team, after all. But maybe we could make him and his team responsible for a lot of the exploration of the city?"

"That's exactly what I was thinking. We need to get some new areas opened up for living quarters, to start with. And Dr. McKay says the available lab space near the Gate room is inadequate."

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "He does, does he?"

 

When he was done with Weir, Sheppard headed for the area that had been designated as an infirmary. McKay and Beckett had tussled briefly over the extensive suite of office-labs nearest the Gate room; it was only when Weir had stepped in and ruled that they needed the infirmary to be centrally located that McKay had backed down. Apparently he was consoling himself with the promise of a larger lab area once more of the city was opened up.

Sheppard found the infirmary in chaos, with half-unpacked equipment everywhere. Two marines were erecting some shelving under the direction of a beige-and-yellow-clad woman -- doctor or nurse, Sheppard wasn't sure. A cage full of mice on a desk in the middle of the room made him stare; was that sanitary? Several beds waited ready for patients against a wall: one wheeled gurney, one military-issue camp cot, and two big rust-colored boxes that appeared to be Ancient tech with bedrolls placed on top. One of these held the Athosian, Halling, looking unhappy with his leg in a cast and his son Jinto at his side.

Halling's head snapped toward the door. "Major Sheppard," he said gravely. "I fear I did not convey my thanks --"

Sheppard held up a hand. "You did. All your people did, and I'm just glad we could help out a little. But what happened to your leg?"

Halling looked embarrassed. "I have never lived in a place with so many stairs, and my knees are not as young as they once were --"

"It was my fault," Jinto interrupted. "I left my boots by the top of the stair and Father tripped over them."

"Tibio-fibular fracture, nice and clean," said Dr. Beckett as he came up behind Sheppard. "Painful, of course, but the skin wasn't broken, there was no need for pins or surgery, and I don't expect any infection or other complications. It was a good excuse to unpack our X-ray machine. And Dr. McKay's brought me a few Ancient devices he thinks are meant for medical imaging, so I'm giving those a try as well."

Halling looked more saturnine than ever.

"And what about this?" Sheppard asked, studying the boxy table the Athosian lay upon.

"Definitely medical beds. They give a readout of vital signs, see?" Beckett pointed at the array of incomprehensible characters scrolling slowly around the perimeter of the bed.

"Just like Star Trek," Sheppard murmured.

"That's what Lieutenant Ford said," Jinto reported.

"Ach, no, why does everyone say that? This is far more detailed. See there -- heart rate, respiration, blood pressure --" Beckett peered at the characters, compared them to the ones on his BP machine, and wrote something down on a clipboard. "We're trying to calibrate the measurement scales now."

"Well, I'm sure you'll have plenty of guinea pigs," Sheppard said. "Jinto will help out, won't you, kid?"

Jinto grinned.

"Aye, and I've tried it on some of the medical staff as well. I haven't figured out more than half of it yet. Oxygen saturation, here, but I don't know yet if this measurement would be affected by carbon monoxide, as ours is. That one there could be a measure of hydration. And this one, I'm not sure of -- I'd almost say glucose, but I don't see how it could measure that without taking a blood sample."

Sheppard's eyebrows rose. "A bed that bites?"

Jinto gave his father an alarmed look, and Halling shifted uneasily.

"It hasn't yet. Hold still, please, Halling, that cast hasn't set yet and I need to bind up that twisted wrist." Beckett moved the BP machine out of the way and reached for a heavy brace. "Now, what was it you wanted from me, Major?"

"I just wanted to ask for a rundown of the folks on the science team -- who's in good shape, that sort of thing."

"All of them," said Beckett, fumbling a little with the brace. Sheppard remembered the man was primarily a researcher, and wondered if there would be a problem there. But Beckett got himself straightened out and soon had Halling's wrist cradled in the metal and plastic. "No one was included on this expedition unless they were in good health," the doctor continued. "They've all had complete exams, histories, and bloodwork."

"Yeah, but some of them must be in better shape than others," Sheppard insisted.

"Och, I suppose. There're no Olympic athletes in the lot, if that's what ye're after. But Peter Grodin works with weights, and I believe Dr. Kavanagh's an enthusiastic runner."

Sheppard made a mental note. "And what about the ones who aren't in such good shape?"

Beckett tightened the last velcro strap, then gave Halling's good leg a pat. "There ye go. One more hour for the cast to set, and then Nurse Johnson will show you how to use the crutches. She'll have some wee pills ye can take for pain, as well; take them sparingly. No bathing or showers with the cast on, just sponge baths -- but ye can unbind the wrist at night. Come back in three days so I can have another look at that leg. For now I'll leave you in Jinto's care." He smiled awkwardly at the Athosian before leading Sheppard to a quiet corner. "Now, what's this all about, Major?"

"I want some scientists to join the offworld teams, and I need to know who can hack it and who can't."

"Well, as to that, I think ye'll find temperament a determining factor more than health."

"Let me worry about that. You just tell me who has any health issues that might become a problem."

Beckett scratched his jaw. "Well, there are quite a few who have allergies of one kind or another, and a few with special dietary needs. A couple of cases of hypothyroidism -- perfectly managed with medication, y'understand, but it could become an issue if the team were captured or stranded or some such."

"Yeah, that's the kind of thing I need to know."

"All right, I'll make a list. You've spoken with Dr. Weir about this?"

Sheppard nodded. "She gave me the personnel files for the science division, so I don't think she'd object to sharing a little basic health information. But you can ask her if you're not sure."

"No no, I trust you, lad. It's a good idea, having scientists going offworld."

"Oh, and I'd also like to know who has the Ancient gene, besides me and you. Could be useful to have someone on each team."

Beckett grinned broadly. "It'll be hard for me to tell ye that, as I can't see into the future."

"What?"

"I've developed a retroviral gene therapy that, if it works, could give the gene to just about anyone."

Sheppard stared. "What? You mean Weir and O'Neill railroaded me into this expedition because the gene is so incredibly rare, and now it turns out everyone can have it?"

"Well, now, I've only just started testing. I couldn't get approval for human trials on Earth, y'know."

"So you're testing it on people here? What if something goes wrong?" Sheppard grimaced at the thought of losing people to one of their own experiments.

"Ach, the retroviral technique itself is well-established and perfectly safe. We just don't know whether it'll be successful in conferring the ATA gene or not. But we should be hearing from the first test subject soon --"

"Carson!" The bellow came from the corridor outside the infirmary, but it sounded more excited than alarmed. "Carson, it worked!" The source of the noise burst into the infirmary, bounced off one of the marines working on the shelves, and rerouted towards Beckett.

Sheppard's eyes widened. "You experimented on McKay? Does Weir know about that?" he demanded, remembering how reluctant she had been to allow her top scientist to take risks.

Beckett huffed. "She said it was a matter of individual choice."

"Look, it worked!" McKay repeated breathlessly, gesturing at an Ancient device that clung to his shirt, glowing green.

"Excellent, Rodney! Here, let me get a blood sample." Beckett urged McKay up onto another of the boxy beds.

"So, you have the Ancient gene now, huh?" Sheppard said slowly.

"That's right!" said McKay, wearing the broadest smile Sheppard had ever seen on him. Actually, it might be the only smile Sheppard had ever seen on him.

"That mean you're going to stop asking us to turn things on for you all the time?"

"That depends. As you know, some genes are more equal than others. Hey Carson, where did you get my gene from?"

"General O'Neill," the doctor replied shortly, digging through a box of supplies.

"Oh. Well, that's the best, isn't it? Even better than his." McKay jerked a thumb at Sheppard.

"It's the strongest gene we knew about when I developed this technique," said Beckett diplomatically.

McKay looked uncertain. "Does this mean I'm related to O'Neill now?"

"You're blood brothers," Sheppard suggested, smirking at McKay's sour expression.

"Probably a good thing he doesn't know about it, I guess," said McKay uneasily.

"Here we go," said Beckett, pulling out a syringe. "Arm, Rodney."

"So what is that thing, anyway?" Sheppard asked, gesturing at the glowing object on McKay's chest.

"It's a personal shield," McKay said importantly. "Just take the blood from my hand, Carson. You've put enough holes in my elbow already."

"The antecubital vein is the most accessible," Beckett complained. "But I can try --" He aimed the syringe at a vein on the back of McKay's hand, only to have it pushed away by a shower of green sparks.

"A personal shield, huh?" said Sheppard slowly.

"Yep! Here, look." McKay grabbed one of the instruments Beckett had pulled from the supply box -- a compact, heavy spot-flashlight of the kind doctors used to look into eyes and ears -- and whapped it against his head. There was another flash of green, and the object leapt from his hand to clatter against the floor.

"Not bad," Sheppard conceded. "Could be useful in a fight."

"Ach, that's a delicate piece of equipment!" Beckett protested, retrieving the thing and checking it over.

McKay jumped off the bed. "It gets better," he said. "I read about these things in the Ancient database, and it shows a momentum profile of the kind of impacts they can deflect. Here, give me your gun."

Sheppard unbuckled and drew his sidearm, but held it by his hip, pointing at the floor. "Why?"

"So I can demonstrate." McKay grabbed hand and gun together and aimed the barrel at his forehead.

"Not like that!" Sheppard yelped, just as Beckett shouted, "Not in my infirmary!" Sheppard yanked his weapon free.

McKay looked between them in disgust. "It's not going to hurt me. I'm telling you, I know how this thing works!"

"If the bullet bounces like that otoscope did . . ." Beckett said forebodingly.

"He has a point there, McKay."

"Oh, all right. Come into the corridor, Major, and you can shoot me wherever you like." McKay whirled out of the room.

Sheppard looked at Beckett.

"There are a lot of people who'd jump at an offer like that," the doctor pointed out. "Not sure I'd refuse it myself."

So Sheppard found himself in the halls of Atlantis, aiming a gun uncertainly at the chief scientist's leg.

"C'mon, c'mon, just do it already," McKay jittered.

"I'm trying to pick a place that won't hurt you too badly if it doesn't work --"

"It'll work!"

"-- and won't ricochet towards me if it does work!" Sheppard finished. "It'd be a lot easier if you'd just stand still."

"All right, I'm standing still. Now shoot me!"

Sheppard shot him. The bullet ricocheted in a flash of green, whanged off a wall, the floor, another wall, and then crashed into something around the corner. "Uh-oh."

McKay studied the wall at the first point of impact. "We have to find a way to produce this compound."

Sheppard jogged around the corner, looking for what had been damaged. It was a crate of . . . "Mess supplies, I think. Good thing it wasn't explosives."

McKay giggled. "Someone's going to have a bullet in their MRE?"

"Several other someones are going to have holes in their MREs." Sheppard holstered his pistol. "Enough target practice. Is there another way to test that thing? Could it protect you against a heavy impact, like a car crash?"

"It would, but how are we going to simulate a car crash around here?"

Sheppard grinned slowly. "I think I have an idea."

 

Twenty-four hours later, Sheppard wasn't sure what to think of McKay. Coward, or hero? The man must have some sense of adventure if he would travel millions of light-years from home and get shoved off a balcony in the name of science. But he'd been happily stuffing his face while Sheppard was facing down the Jaws of energy-sucking beings.

Then again, when it came down to it and McKay saw a solution that only he could carry out, he hadn't hesitated. He hadn't grandstanded or boasted about it, either -- just took a hell of chance and saved them all. As unlikely a hero as McKay was, that last-minute Hail Mary of his smacked of exactly the kind of mojo Sheppard wanted for his team. But could he count on it, or was it just a fluke?

He followed McKay on his semi-inclined gurney ride to the infirmary, thinking he might as well check up on Ford at the same time. McKay was going on about headache and blurred vision and light-headedness, but it all sounded exaggerated to Sheppard.

"What's this?" Beckett demanded as they arrived. "Rodney, this is the third time in twenty-four hours you've been here as a patient."

"He walked right into that energy-thing," Sheppard said darkly.

"What!" Beckett descended upon McKay and started exchanging low-voiced orders and vital statistics with the team that had brought the gurney from the Gate room.

"It was safe! Mostly," McKay protested. "I had good reason to think it wouldn't shock me, at least."

"Good reason, meaning you guessed the shield would protect you?"

McKay rolled his eyes. "No, I felt the static electricity drop off as soon as I put the shield on."

"Static?" said Ford curiously from his bed in the corner.

"Oh, come on." McKay looked back and forth between Ford and Sheppard. "You were face-to-face -- or whatever -- with that thing, and you didn't notice the hair standing up on your arms, and your neck, and everywhere else?"

Sheppard looked blankly at Ford, who seemed just as puzzled.

"All right, Rodney, can ye stand? I'd like ye to hop up here, please." Beckett patted one of the Ancient diagnostic beds.

McKay made the transfer without acknowledging the doctor. "Okay, fine, so your hair always looks like you've been electrocuted," he said scathingly to Sheppard. "But I'd think the Lieutenant would have noticed it in his close encounter."

"It's a little hazy, actually," Ford admitted.

Sheppard shrugged. "I thought it was just, y'know, because I was . . . tense."

McKay snorted. "Tense, right. That's one word for it."

"Hey, I said you 'passed out,' didn't I?"

"He lost consciousness?" Beckett demanded. "When?" He aimed a penlight at McKay's eyes.

"Well . . . " Sheppard looked to McKay, but the scientist was busy squinting and squirming. "Some time after he threw the generator through the gate, and before the creature finished following it through."

"Threw a generator? No, never mind, I'll hear about it at the morning meeting soon enough. Rodney, would ye sit still, please?"

"What was it like inside that thing, anyway?" Ford asked. "I didn't get to see anything."

McKay frowned. "It was very strange. I could see fine -- that thing may have blocked light from passing through it, but it was definitely letting it in. But the colors were all washed out, so it was almost like black and white. And there were these things floating around . . . " He looked up at Sheppard. "Remember the one where Spock flies the shuttlecraft into the giant amoeba?"

Sheppard grinned. "With all the little corpuscles and things floating around?"

"It was like that, only without the psychedelic colors. And there were little electric charges zapping between the corpuscles."

"Cool."

"I guess, if I hadn't been so, um . . ."

"Tense?"

"I was going to say worried."

"Worried is good."

"So what knocked you out, if you didn't get zapped?" Ford asked.

McKay pulled the little Ancient device from his pocket and rolled it in his hand. "I'm not sure. The shield ran out of power, but the energy creature was nearly gone by that time, and it wasn't paying attention to me anyway. Carson, did I get zapped?"

Beckett was peering at the readouts along the rim of the bed. "No sign of burns, but you're dehydrated and your blood sugar is low. I think. We'll have to check it the old-fashioned way to be sure." He pushed up McKay's sleeve and started swabbing the inside of his elbow with alcohol.

McKay made a sour face. "Old-fashioned, as opposed to Ancient?"

"We don't have the measurements calibrated for comparison yet."

"But why would my blood sugar be down? I ate as soon as the shield came off!"

"He definitely ate, Doc," Sheppard confirmed. "And drank a lot too."

Beckett tsked. "Sugar-filled pastries will bring your blood glucose up, Rodney, but they can't sustain it. You should know that. And coffee is a diuretic. After, what, nearly a day without eating or drinking -- or sleeping! -- you need something more nutritious." He handed one blood-filled vial to a nurse and plugged a second one into the syringe.

"What's that one for?"

"Just checking on the progress of the gene therapy. Most of your cells must have converted by now, but not all of them. In fact, the blood cells will take longer than most. I'll need a skin sample as well."

"Right, I could have guessed that." McKay frowned. "So if not all of the cells have converted, does that explain why I had trouble deactivating the shield at first?"

"Maybe." Without advance warning, Becket stuck something that looked almost like a hole-punch on McKay's arm and triggered it.

"Oww!" McKay pulled his arm free, inspected the gouge in it, then reluctantly returned it as Beckett offered a bandage. "So you're saying it wasn't some sort of subconscious cowardice after all, huh?"

Beckett sighed. "Look, Rodney, most of us with the gene have incomplete control over it. Ye saw what a mess I made of things with that chair. No one was mocking you --"

"You were! All of you were definitely mocking me! I saw those smirks."

"Relax, Rodney. I'm going to set you up with an IV --"

"Oh, no! What, you're saying I really am sick?"

"Just until we get your electrolytes back to normal. You should be fine in a couple of hours."

Feeling a little guilty, Sheppard turned to ask Ford how he was doing.

 

By the time the meeting started two hours later, McKay was in fine form, though Sheppard himself was starting to get that hollow feeling from lack of sleep. The meeting included the two of them plus Weir, Beckett, Teyla, Bates, and Grodin as representatives of various groups.

Weir started the meeting by describing the events of the previous night and the solution they had eventually come up with. She was generous in her praise of McKay, Grodin, Sheppard, and the absent Ford. McKay looked almost as alarmed at the description of his descent into the blackness as he had during the actual event, but he practically glowed when Weir said he'd saved them all. Then she went on to other business, announcing their plans for exploration with three teams led by Sheppard, Bates, and Stackhouse. Sheppard added that the members of the teams hadn't all been chosen yet, and that they would be exploring Atlantis itself as well as other planets.

With help from Grodin's graphical displays, Sheppard pointed out the new areas of the city that had just been approved for habitation. He marked a large communal area that looked like it would be good for a mess hall, and another series of rooms that he and Bates thought could be made into training gyms, possibly even a shooting range since all the rooms on Atlantis had pretty good soundproofing and ventilation. Weir and Teyla started discussing which areas would be suitable for residence and whether the Athosians should integrate more with the Earth expedition members.

McKay leaned toward Sheppard and growled, "Training gyms? What if I wanted that space for labs?"

"It's too open for labs, not enough workspace and shelfspace. Besides, I figured you'd want to pick just the right area yourself. Now that we know about the transporters, you could get a lot more space by going away from the center of the city."

"True." McKay considered, his fingers drumming the table. "There were several rooms near where we found that alien mousetrap device which were obviously designed as labs . . ."

"I thought you'd prefer something like that."

Grodin was now speculating on whether they should move the naquadah generators to support activities in the expanded areas -- especially the mess hall, which would use a lot of power -- and McKay abandoned his conversation with Sheppard to chime in on that topic. Grodin gave a brief report on the challenges of integrating their computers with the Ancient systems, and the establishment of a local network and email server. Next, Beckett reported on progress setting up the infirmary, the injuries that had been treated so far (Halling, Ford, and McKay), and the wonders of the Ancient diagnostic equipment. He went on about that for a while, until McKay diverted him onto the gene therapy. Both Grodin and Weir were fascinated by the initial success, and after some disagreement on the best way to announce it, they decided to send out an email that Beckett was looking for more test subjects.

Then it was time for McKay's report, and he stood to deliver it as if he were a teacher and all of them were particularly slow students. All he needed was a blackboard and some chalk stains on his thighs, Sheppard decided, and he would be the picture of the supercilious professor. Except that McKay's gestures were usually so expressive that he hardly needed to draw a picture. Sheppard leaned back to enjoy the show.

"Well, before we start exploring other planets, we might want to consider what we already know -- and don't know -- about this one." McKay jabbed a finger at the floor. "We've only been here three days and two nights, which isn't really enough to establish everything we need to know. But we did manage to find a description of the planet in the Ancient computer systems here, and most of that information should still be good, at least to first order. The planet -- which we're just calling Atlantis, by the way --"

Sheppard groaned.

"Don't start with me about names, Major. Bad enough you had your way with the Gateships." This was accompanied by a gesture that Sheppard was pretty sure meant something obscene in ASL.

"What? Puddlejumpers is a great name for them."

McKay huffed, and Weir and Beckett hid smiles. "As I was saying, this planet has very nearly the same mass as Earth, but a slightly larger radius." He drew an expanding sphere with his palms. "Therefore the gravity is lower, about 96% of Earth's gravity." He smiled at Weir. "We all lost a few pounds just stepping through the Stargate from Earth."

"I'll have to recalibrate all my scales," Beckett murmured.

"The difference in gravity shouldn't be enough to bother anyone --"

"Does that explain why I keep feeling like the city is sinking?" Sheppard asked.

"-- except possibly over-sensitive pilots --"

"Highly trained and experienced pilots," Sheppard corrected.

"-- Of which we have only one on the expedition." McKay held up one finger, and he started to talk even faster as if that would cut down on the interruptions. Sheppard grinned. "The planet has two moons, both smaller than Earth's but large enough to be rounded by self-gravity. The larger of the two is in a closer orbit than Earth's moon, with an orbital period of about 18 days, so it appears nearly as large in the night sky."

"I saw that one," Sheppard said with a nod.

"The smaller is currently in its waning crescent phase, so it rises just before sunrise, but our astronomers have seen it and confirmed that it's in a more distant orbit that will take about two Earth months to complete, just as the database says." The lunar orbits were demonstrated with complex fist-whirling motions.

"Haven't seen that one," Sheppard said. "Two moons would be cool."

McKay rolled his eyes. "Wait a few weeks, Major. Now, with two good-sized moons, the planet's axial tilt should be quite stable, so it's probably still about 17 degrees just as it was ten thousand years ago. It will take us a while to confirm that positively. The city's current position is about 20 degrees south of the equator, just outside the tropical zone. It appears to be Spring in this hemisphere, but we won't see a large difference in temperature over the year."

"What, no snow?"

"No, so it's just as well you couldn't smuggle your skis in with the rocket launchers."

Sheppard's jaw dropped. "How'd you know about that?"

McKay just looked smug. "Now, since the surface area of the planet is about 85% ocean, there will be a lot of thermal inertia even at higher latitudes, but there might also be conditions to form some powerful storm systems. We'll have to continue studying the database to see how often that happened and how the Ancients dealt with it."

"Make that a priority, Dr. McKay," said Weir. "With the city on the surface, we'll need an idea of what to expect from the weather."

McKay nodded. "Especially without power for the shield."

Grodin spoke up. "Since the, er, puddlejumpers have spaceflight capabilities, we might want to consider sending one up regularly to check oncoming weather systems."

"That would be a waste of resources," McKay complained. "It would be much easier to put together a multi-wavelength camera and transmitter array that could be set up in a geosynchronous orbit, just like the weather satellites we have around Earth."

"Of course," Grodin breathed. "It would only take one trip from a puddlejumper to put it up there, instead of weekly flights."

"Weekly flights sound good to me," Sheppard put in, but they ignored him.

"But won't the array need some kind of station-keeping capability?"

McKay frowned. "Gyroscopes, of course, for orientation . . .

"Yes, but it will also need orbital adjustment."

"And of course a power source. A naquadah generator would be overkill, but we can't spare enough photovoltaics --"

"Thank you, gentlemen," said Weir. "It sounds like an excellent idea, but I don't think we need to get into the details just now."

"Right." McKay considered for a moment, leaning forward to click through a series of notes on his laptop. "Yes. To continue my report, the sun of this planet is a G0 star, a few hundred Kelvins hotter than Earth's Sun. You might notice it seems a little on the green side of yellow -- or it might be more like white to some eyes -- and it appears smaller in the sky because the planetary orbit is larger than Earth's." He held finger and thumb an inch apart, then drew them away from his eye. "The star has minimal magnetic activity right now, but we're still searching the database to see if it has some kind of sunspot cycle or flares that we might need to be aware of."

Weir leaned forward, hands clasped. "Solar flares can affect Gate travel, can't they?"

"Only for limited lines of travel where the wormhole passes close to the surface of the sun." McKay lifted his chin. "Since we have a proper DHD instead of an ad-hoc dialing computer like the SGC's, we'll get a warning if we try to establish a wormhole in such a dangerous orientation."

Weir glanced at Grodin for confirmation, then nodded. "Good."

"The planet's orbit is about 420 Earth days, which works out to just over 360 local days."

Sheppard blinked. "That's quite a coincidence."

"Maybe not," said Weir. "It's possible the Ancients chose Earth to be as much like this planet as possible."

"Or chose this planet to be like Earth, five million years ago when they abandoned the Antarctic outpost. Whichever it was, one thing which is significantly different about this planet is the length of its day. It's probably a minute or two longer now than it was ten thousand years ago, so the information in the database will need to be updated by direct measurement, but one day here is approximately 27 hours, 56 minutes."

"I thought last night was awfully long!" Sheppard said.

Beckett whistled softly. "People will have a bit of trouble adjusting to that."

McKay just shrugged. "Some will, some won't. The lower gravity might help to make people feel more energetic, give them more stamina. But some might need afternoon naps."

"On Athos, the day lasted six hours from sunrise to sunset," Teyla informed them.

"Yeah, I remember that," said Sheppard. "Really short days."

"So, the Athosians probably will need afternoon naps, but they'll likely be awake during part of the night, as well" Grodin said.

"We'll have to discuss how to arrange shifts for stations that need to be staffed around the clock," Weir said.

"The infirmary," Beckett put in.

"And the Gate room," Grodin added.

"Security for the Gate has to be available around the clock if we're going to have teams offworld," said Bates grimly.

"So with a twenty-eight hour day, should we go for four seven-hour shifts, or three shifts of nine hours and twenty minutes?" Sheppard considered.

"And maybe we should have four meals a day instead of three," McKay suggested.

Beckett gave McKay a sour look. "It takes fewer people to cover three shifts."

"But they'll be getting tired by the end of a shift, especially if they're used to eight hours," said Bates.

"Or if they're Athosians," McKay suggested.

"I don't think we're gonna need Athosians to work shifts in the Gate room," Bates growled.

"It looks like the division heads will have to make these decisions individually," said Weir. "What works for the medical staff might not be appropriate for security, and vice-versa. Let's each give that some consideration and come back to the discussion later." She turned to McKay. "Is your report done?"

"Ah, just one more thing," said McKay, tapping his watch. "Time-keeping. Doctor, uh --" He snapped his fingers rapidly. "Black woman, southern accent?"

"Delarue," said Weir and Grodin simultaneously, both looking as if they'd encountered this trait of McKay's before.

"Right. I've assigned her to write a clock program we can install on our laptops to keep Atlantis time as well as Earth time. For anyone who has a watch issued by the SGC, those can also be programmed, but you'll have to see Dr. Delarue in person for that. You can have your choice of time zones for the Earth time -- Greenwich Mean, SGC time, whatever you want."

"Like it matters," Sheppard murmured. He wasn't particularly expecting to see Earth again.

"And then there's the issue of calendars."

"Do you mean holidays?" Weir asked.

"No no no, I'm talking about regular scheduling. I think we can pretty much throw Earth months and seasons out the window, but we're all accustomed to living a week at a time. If you plan to have a meeting every Wednesday, what does that mean? Do non-essential staff get one or two days off each week? Weeks aren't based on the orbit of anything, but with a longer day here, seven days on Earth is almost equal to six days on Atlantis."

"I see what you're saying," Weir said slowly. "If we use a six-day week, that will keep us in phase with the Earth calendar."

"Well, yes, and it will also be closer to the period of time that feels like a week to most of us." Apparently McKay also didn't care much about matching up with Earth, except for the convenience of the Earthlings on this planet.

"So what day do we get rid of?" asked Grodin.

"Monday," said Beckett, Sheppard, Bates, and McKay all at the same time. Teyla just looked at them all in bafflement.

Weir smiled. "Sounds like we have a consensus," she said. "Tuesday through Sunday it is."

"All right, I'll have Delarue distribute a calendar program along with the clock program."

"Now we can have weekly calendars for the mess hall," said Sheppard, rubbing his hands with mock anticipation. "Which day do you suppose will be 'Chef's Surprise?'"

"Monday, I hope," said Grodin at the same time McKay said, "Probably every day."

They laughed together as McKay sat down and gulped half a cup of coffee.

A moment later, he slammed the silver mug down on the table. "That's not my coffee!" he gasped.

"I know," said Grodin next to him. "Your coffee is in front of the Major. That was my tea you just drank."

"You put lemon in your tea?!" McKay yelled, stabbing a finger at the mug in near-hysteria.

Sheppard frowned. "Take it easy, McKay, it isn't a crime," he started, but he heard Weir breathe "Oh, no," at the same moment that Beckett leapt up, his chair crashing to the floor.

"Medical team to the conference room, stat!" the doctor snapped into his radio.

Sheppard stared as Beckett elbowed Grodin out of the way and turned McKay to face him. McKay was scrabbling at the edge of the table, trying to push his chair away or something, but he seemed to be having some kind of panic attack.

"Easy, Rodney," Beckett murmured, grabbing McKay's face in both hands. "Just keep breathing and try to stay calm. Have ye got an Epi-Pen?"

McKay let go of the table and started slappping at his pants instead.

Sheppard turned to Weir. "What the hell . . .?"

"Rodney's severely allergic to lemons," she said, looking deeply worried.

Sheppard almost asked if McKay would be all right, but from the alarming purple shade of his face and the whistle of his breathing, that was a pretty stupid question.

"I didn't know --" Grodin was saying anxiously, standing well back from the table. "That is, I knew but I didn't expect --"

Weir moved to his side. "It's not your fault, Peter, it was an honest mistake. I think we'd better clear some room in here for Carson to work. Teyla, Sergeant . . . Major Sheppard?"

Sheppard ignored her. He was helping McKay pry an oblong object from his pocket, which he then handed over to Beckett. Beckett yanked McKay's sleeve right up to the shoulder, uncapped the little syringe, and sank it deep into McKay's upper arm. The scientist swore vehemently, but it didn't carry far since he'd lost his voice.

"There ye go, Rodney," said Beckett soothingly. "Ye should feel it ease in just a minute. Keep breathing, that's it."

McKay glared viciously at the doctor but didn't try to say anything more. His hands were white-knuckled on the arms of the chair. There was something profoundly wrong about McKay being both silent and motionless. Sheppard rested a hand on his shoulder -- to comfort or steady, he wasn't quite sure. He could feel the man trembling and struggling for every breath.

Then the medical team was there unfolding their gurney, and unapologetic hands pushed Sheppard out of the way.

 

A couple of hours later, Sheppard overheard Weir telling Grodin that she was going to stop by the infirmary, so he used the excuse to tag along. They found Beckett standing near the doorway of the small room he had claimed for an office, speaking to a nurse -- quietly and calmly, Sheppard noted with relief.

"How's he doing, Carson?" Weir asked without preamble.

"He'll be fine," the doctor said. "We didn't even have to intubate him."

Sheppard winced. "Well, that's good." He knew how it felt to be intubated -- okay, not really, since he'd been unconscious at the time, but being extubated was nasty enough.

"I can probably release him this evening, if he does all right once the adrenaline wears off. You can visit with him -- I'm sure he'd appreciate the company."

Sheppard wasn't so sure of that, given McKay's prickly mood, but he followed Weir into the infirmary nevertheless. There was a screen around Ford's bed -- the Lieutenant was sleeping, he saw through a gap -- but McKay was sitting fully clothed on one of the Ancient beds. He looked miserable, hunched over with his hands braced on his thighs and his shoulders heaving at every breath.

"Rodney, I'm glad to see you doing better," said Weir. Sheppard thought that description was a little too generous.

McKay glanced up, his face flushed over an oxygen mask. "I . . . hate . . . epinephrine," he panted indistinctly through the plastic.

"Epinephrine saved your life, y'ungrateful wretch," Beckett called from around the corner. "And not for the first time, I'll wager."

"So? I can still . . . hate it."

"You look awful, McKay," Sheppard said, ignoring Weir's frown of reproof.

"Feel awful, too." He pulled the mask down to his chin. "'M breathing okay, now . . . or I would be, except . . . damn adrenaline. Every cell in my body . . . screaming fight or flight . . . fight or flight . . . and all I can do is just . . . sit here and try . . . not to throw up."

Sheppard grimaced in sympathy and glanced around quickly to see where the little kidney-dishes were, just in case. Then he hopped up next to McKay for solidarity. "Hey, does it mess up the bed if I do this?" He bent over and scrutinized the upside-down readouts scrolling under his legs.

"Yes, it does," Beckett answered.

Sheppard shrugged and grinned at McKay, who sat a little straighter. "Oh well, I can't read that stuff anyway."

"I asked for my laptop," McKay said, then snorted at himself. "As if I could think straight. But even if I could . . . can't type anyway." He lifted a hand from his thigh, and it shook like an expensive dildo.

"We'll just have to play twenty questions or something, then," Sheppard offered.

McKay chuckled weakly. "Your big chance to win."

Weir had been watching them half-disapprovingly, but some change in McKay made her relax and nod to Sheppard. "I just stopped in to see how you're doing, Rodney. Carson said the epinephrine will wear off soon, and you won't have to stay here much longer."

McKay nodded and flapped a hand. "Know the routine."

"Get some rest, then, and get better." Weir patted him awkwardly on the knee, peered around the screen at the sleeping Lieutenant, then headed out of the room.

Beckett nearly bumped into her as he came in. "All right, Rodney, your blood oxygen has been good for a while now. You're doing well enough to leave off that mask, but I still want you on a nasal cannula for a bit."

"Oh joy," McKay grumbled, tilting his head to help Beckett unwrap the mask from his ears.

"So what's the bed say about us?" Sheppard said, still studying the little characters scrolling past.

McKay pointed. "Heart rate . . . two million beats per bleem."

Beckett snorted.

"Bleem?" said Sheppard doubtfully. "Is that from Mork and Mindy?"

"Ye mean ye don't watch Wormhole X-Treme?" Beckett asked.

Sheppard grimaced. "What, that really horrible sci-fi show on cable? No, I think I saw five minutes of it once and ended up throwing the remote at the TV."

"'S hilarious," McKay said, batting Beckett away to settle the cannula himself with a shaking hand. "Based on the Stargate program."

Sheppard's jaw dropped. "No way."

"Way."

"It's true," Beckett confirmed. "Plausible deniability. If anyone tries to release classified information about the Stargate program, it can be explained away as a paranoid fantasy based on a TV show."

"Now, that's just scary." Sheppard shook his head. "I didn't know about the Stargate when I saw that episode, but I guess I can see some parallels."

"More than a few, I assure ye, Major."

"Everyone at SGC watches it," said McKay. "Cracks them up. There's a drinking game."

"Aye, what is it, a drink every time a character quotes the SG1 team member they're based on?"

"Two drinks if they quote the wrong team member," McKay gasped. "Five drinks if Grell speaks."

Beckett chuckled. "No one will get drunk like that."

"Three drinks for the last person to name the SG1 mission . . . that inspired the episode." McKay was looking a little better now, sitting up straighter and breathing more slowly, although he still trembled. "I bet someone brought digital recordings."

"Ye'll have to introduce the Major to the joys of Wormhole X-Treme, then, Rodney. No doubt he'll find it easier to appreciate than he did before he met us."

McKay snorted.

"You spent some time at the SGC, right, McKay? Is there a character based on you?" Sheppard asked.

McKay shook his head.

Beckett raised an eyebrow. "What about that fellow with the crush on Major Monroe?"

McKay looked indignant. "Nonononono, he's based on Felger."

"I always thought there was something a bit McKayish about him."

"Please! Simpering lab assistant?"

"Ach, ye're right. Nothing at all like Dr. Kusinagi."

McKay sputtered and turned a little redder.

"Are you supposed to be winding him up like that?" Sheppard asked.

"Oh aye, it's just as well to have his own adrenal glands take over a bit of the load." Beckett patted McKay on the shoulder.

McKay growled in his throat and gave Sheppard a shove. "Off the bed. Need to lie down now."

Sheppard got out of the way while McKay curled on his side, but he didn't leave immediately. He'd had a strange feeling sitting there next to McKay, as if they were already on the same team. Testing the shield had felt the same way; as different as he and McKay were in temperament, they seemed to mesh more easily than anyone he'd ever worked with.

Sheppard had spoken to Teyla and Ford, and each of them had agreed to be part of his Gate team -- Ford eagerly, and Teyla solemnly. He still hadn't decided on a scientist, though. Obviously McKay had the knowledge, and judging by the morning's events it seemed he had guts as well. But would his health get in the way? What happened if he had a severe allergic reaction in the field?

Uncomfortable with this line of thought, Sheppard poked at the Ancient bed. "Seriously, McKay, I need to learn how to read this stuff. If nothing else, I have to understand the HUD on the jumpers."

McKay snorted without opening his eyes. "Good luck. How's your octal math?"

"You mean base 8? I can handle that."

McKay cracked a skeptical eye at him.

"But I still have to learn to read the numbers, and the units. Can you show me, or tell me who can?"

McKay sighed and cuddled his pillow. "I'll do better than that. When I get out of here, I'll start reprogramming the puddlejumper displays to use English. Good enough?"

Sheppard grinned.

As the silence stretched, McKay squinted one eye open again. "What?"

"You said 'puddlejumper!'"

"Oh, just go away and leave me to my misery."

"Sure thing, McKay. Here's a basin if you need it." Sheppard snickered and turned away, stage-whispering to Beckett, "He called it a puddlejumper."

The doctor just gave him a knowing looked and crooked a finger towards his office. "I told ye temperament was more important," he said as the door slid closed.

Sheppard scowled. For a moment he considered pretending he didn't know what Beckett was talking about, but it probably wouldn't fly. "Health will be pretty damn important when we're light-years away from advanced medical technology."

Beckett leaned back against his desk. "As far as the hypoglycemia goes, this expedition could be a fine treatment for that -- and going offworld perhaps even better. No junk food, rationed coffee, and regular exercise will do wonders for Rodney's health."

"And the allergy thing?"

Beckett's eyebrows screwed doubtfully. "He had a severe reaction today, but I'm guessing that quite a few of us will meet up with things in this galaxy that our bodies won't like. At least Rodney's prepared for it. He'll recognize the problem in an instant and go straight for his Epi-Pen. I'd back his chances against someone who's never experienced an anaphylactic reaction before."

Sheppard sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I guess you'd better give me some of those Epi-things and show me how to use them." He'd seen them before, but never had to use one in the field.

Beckett grinned. "That's the spirit, Major!"

"I haven't actually decided anything, so don't mention it to McKay, all right? Or Weir. If I pick McKay for my team, I'm going to have to work out how to tell both of them."

And that, he reflected as he left the infirmary, would probably be the hard part.


End file.
